“Zero.”
“Here in Portland?”
“For now. But I’m getting her to L.A. after.”
Sam still looks dubious, but doesn’t push.
Mac leans back. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”
Silence settles.
“I’m gonna check if she’s awake,” I mumble, backing away like I remembered I left the oven on.
No one stops me.
At the top of the stairs, I glance back—my people. Not blood, but still my family.
Okay, maybe not Dean. Because the way he’s looking at me? I’m rethinking things.
“Why does he keep looking at me like that?” Dean mutters.
“I’ve seen that look,” Chace says flatly.
Nope. Not today.
I turn and head for the room. My bride-to-be.
The world’s a mess. I’m a bigger one.
But I’ve made my choice. I’m not taking it back.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Mac:If she’s getting married in the morning, she’s gonna need a dress. Lace or satin? Size? Height?
I’ll have it ready when she wakes up.
A quiet laugh slips out of me—rough, disbelieving.
Even now, Mac’s thinking about details. About making the impossiblepossible.
I lean against the door, thumbs tapping.
Trey:Fuck. I don’t know. Get both. She’s tiny—size 0. 5’2. Wild red hair. Curly. Beautiful.
The words look weird on the screen. Too honest. Too soft.
But they’re true. Every damn one.
Mac:Got it. We’ll handle everything. And if you change your mind—we’ll keep receipts, just in case.
My throat tightens.
Trey:Receipts are for pussies. Let’s fucking go. Also—you’re Best Man. The guys are bridesmaids. Dresses or kilts?
Chapter eighteen
Seraphina
